


Moving Forward

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Stiles, Future Fic, Graphic Designer Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles leaves Beacon Hills a couple of weeks after he graduates. He packs his room up into boxes and prepares himself for an Ivy League education at Brown University.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Forward

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills a couple of weeks after he graduates. He packs his room up into boxes and prepares himself for an Ivy League education at Brown University.

He keeps in contact with everyone for the first couple of months, and then it’s been a year and he only ever talks to Scott and his dad. When he returns during holidays and summer break he spends most of his time at home, catching up on sleeping and doing freelance graphic design work. 

Mostly everyone’s left town, trying to get far away from the memories as possible. That’s another reason Stiles assumes they don’t talk, because they all serve as a constant reminder to one another about the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve experienced.

It’s everyone and no one’s fault when they drop out of touch. High school friends can’t be expected to be friends forever, and sometimes grief just drives people apart, and that’s okay. Stiles doesn’t hold any grudges, and he knows that no one holds any grudges against him. It’s not as if they’re ignoring one another, because at times they still like each other’s posts on Facebook and send each other links to things that serve as reminders of old inside jokes, and that’s okay. Stiles doesn’t want anything more, and he expects that everyone else feels the same way.

Eventually he stops going back at all. Instead, his dad starts coming out to see him in Rhode Island, telling Stiles that he’s just happy to have some time off of work to catch up with his only son. They do what they always did when they were in Beacon Hills, only now it’s without the lies that had been necessary at the time, and the trust gap between the pair slowly closes when Stiles realises he doesn’t have anything to hide besides the fact that his partners are increasingly becoming male rather than female.

He goes back to Beacon Hills in his third year, more than a year since the last time, worried when he receives a call from the police department back home. It’s the first time he’s been on the receiving end of a “Mr. Stilinski? There’s been an accident,” call, and he hopes that he doesn’t have to go through it ever again. He packs his suitcase in silence, ignoring the questions his roommate is asking him, and boards the flight Scott booked for him.

They only ever talk via Skype, more irregular than they used to, but Scott still came through for him when it was necessary. This, Stiles thinks, is what growing up really is about. This is moving forward.

It turns out that the accident wasn’t too bad. His dad had interrupted an armed robbery on his night off, because apparently the Stilinskis have been cursed with irony and misfortune, and had tried to protect the cashier. He was shot once, in the arm, and had tried to keep them from calling Stiles.

One of the deputies didn’t listen, though, and Stiles has never been happier to see that his dad’s employees weren’t necessarily on the sheriff’s side.

He hopes this meant that they were listening to Stiles about the no junk food rule too, but he didn’t hold his breath.

He’s been back in town for three days when he runs into Derek at the gas station of all places. He’s filling up his Jeep, wondering how in the hell the car still runs at all when it needs fuel like the devil needs virgin sacrifices or whatever (that analogy got away from him, he’ll argue later to Scott during their Skype session), when he sees someone familiar jog up the driveway and into the store.

Stiles follows, if only because he has to pay for his gas, and stands in line, unsure of whether or not to say anything when he realises he’s in line behind Derek Hale. 

“Do you even have to jog?” He asks, the words pouring out of his mouth when he realises that Derek’s wearing a wife beater and jogging shorts because he’s been running, and not because this is a new fashion trend or the lazy college student wear like back at Brown. 

He mostly realises this because of the way the sweat glistens on Derek’s muscles, and the way he’s out of breath when he turns to Stiles. It’s unfair, really, because Stiles only ever looks like he recently trudged through swamp water when he tries to go jogging. 

“It helps clear my head,” Derek replies, and his voice is still higher than Stiles always expects it to be, and his words aren’t unaccompanied by a growl or a snarl or any kind of expression that Stiles would usually associate with him. 

It’s a reminder that things have changed, but, for the first time, he thinks that it doesn’t necessarily mean they have to all keep their distance. He can do something about growing apart, even if it’s with someone that he hasn’t thought about for a while. 

“Are you in town for long?” Derek asks, which is actually something that Stiles just had on the tip of his tongue as well.

“I’m here to see my dad,” he answers, running his hand through his hair, letting it drop back to his side when he remembers he shaved it off again just before he left Brown, “and I’ll be here until he gets released. It’ll probably be a while?”

Derek nods, not having to ask what Stiles means by ‘released’, because everyone knows about the Sheriff being a hero and getting himself shot on his day off. 

“If you’re free, we should get coffee,” and it’s an unexpected suggestion, something else that Stiles can’t imagine the Derek Hale he used to know asking, because Derek didn’t want to get close to anyone, he didn’t care about knowing about their life. 

Stiles finds himself smiling at the thought of Derek finally being able to trust others. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “Definitely.”

Derek’s called to the counter then, pulling out his cash for his Powerade, before turning and telling Stiles he’ll see him later.

It’s not even just being polite, Stiles realises, it’s something that Derek genuinely means. 

**

Stiles spends the next few days at the hospital, reading various magazines as he sits beside his dad. The Sheriff’s condition is stable, he’s just waiting to be released, but Stiles still refuses to leave when his dad tells him to. 

“You should go hang out with your friends,” the Sheriff says one day, frowning at his son when he realises he’s reading the same magazine he’d been looking at the day beforehand.

“I don’t have any friends here,” Stiles says, turning the page and feigning interest in an article on what your favourite winter accessory says about you, “Did you know there’s an actual science for why we choose what we wear?”

“Does it say anything about plaid shirts being representative of avoiding problems?” His dad asks, and then, “Derek Hale’s back in town, you know?”

“Do you know this because you’ve seen him or has there been a string of murders and you’re just assuming?” Stiles deadpans, smiling innocently at his father’s frown. 

“He’s asked about you, you know? All of you.”

“Anyway, I’m not avoiding any of my problems.”

“You’re talking about how you’re not avoiding your problems to avoid your problems right now.” 

“Why would I talk about avoiding my problems to avoid the problems I’m avoiding when that provides the perfect segue into talking about the problems I’m avoiding?”

“What problems are you avoiding that has you needing to talk about the problems you’re avoiding to avoid the problems you’re avoiding to change the subject from the problems you’re avoiding?”

“Wait, what? Are we talking about two different problems?” Stiles presses his fingers to his chin, thinking about what his dad just said, “Huh, so that’s where I get that from. Mr. McCall always asked if I did that on purpose.”

“Did what?”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles waves his hand, remembering to back when he couldn’t admit to the FBI the one detail that would help save his dad, “ramble.”

The Sheriff narrows his eyes, “Did you talk circles around McCall to obstruct justice?”

Stiles shrugs, and just like that he’s avoided talking about his problems once again.

**

Another week passes and Stiles still hasn’t gotten around to taking Derek up on his offer, but he has found himself drawing again for the first time since he’d gotten the call about his dad being shot.

He takes his sketchbook with him to a coffee shop down on Main Street, ordering a triple shot espresso that has more caffeine than he needs considering he isn’t at school at the moment. He chooses a table while he waits, one in the back corner where he’s not in the main eye line of customers as they walk through the door. The barista brings his drink to him, asking if there’s anything else he wants, but he shakes his head.

An hour passes and his coffee goes cold, but he’s finished his first sketch and then another and then a third one. They’re all of the same subject, which should be weird, but it’s a comparison series. 

Derek Hale circa 2011 compared to now. 

Frowns and furrowed eyebrows compared to smiles and coffee dates.

It’s an interesting piece and Stiles is happy with the results, but nobody else will ever see them.

“What’re you drawing?” A voice says then, and of course, because this is still Beacon Hills and past history suggests that Stiles has zero luck in this town. 

“I was sketching ideas for my final project, but I’m not happy with how they turned out. Seriously, you don’t want to see them. They’re terrible,” Stiles says, closing the sketchbook slowly in an attempt of not drawing attention to the lie. 

He focuses on the truth in his words. The only part he’s worried his heart will indicate as a lie is the ‘they’re terrible’, but if it does skip a beat, Derek doesn’t say anything as he slips into the chair across from Stiles.

“I didn’t know you drew, you never did. Before.”

And that’s what it’s come down to. Before and after. Before Peter Hale, or is that before Kate Argent burnt down the Hale home? Stiles doesn’t know.

“I started taking art classes when I got to college, but I used to draw as a kid. I’m actually majoring in graphic design,” it’s easier being honest now, then it was before, maybe it’s a part of being an adult or maybe it’s just a part of distancing yourself from the grief, “It was the only thing I could really do to occupy my time when I was at the hospital with mum. Reading never held my attention for long enough.”

Derek nods, a look Stiles can’t decipher flashing across his face, “How’s your dad?”

“Better. I thought he’d be complaining about the hospital food, but he just said that it’s better than what I used to feed him.”

He laughs at that, they both do, but Stiles is more quiet and contained, fond of his father, whereas Derek’s is more open. Louder. Completely the opposite of how Stiles imagined his laugh would be. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh before,” Stiles admits, voice quiet, “It’s a good look on you.” 

Derek pauses, and Stiles wants to take it back, wants to apologise, but he doesn’t regret giving Derek a compliment. Certainly doesn’t regret it when Derek reaches out and covers Stiles’ hand with his own.

**

The first time they get coffee, as unplanned as it was, makes it easier somehow to make plans after that. They fall into a routine, Stiles driving his jeep over to Derek’s apartment to pick him up once he texts Stiles’ saying he’s home from his jog. Stiles still doesn’t understand that, the need for a werewolf to exercise, but he thinks that it’s maybe more to just fill in the time Derek used to use on teaching his betas how to fight. 

Clearing his head, Derek had said, and yeah, that makes sense.

With that realisation Stiles finds himself asking to go jogging with Derek too. He uses the excuse of, “The Freshman 15 isn’t a myth, man,” even though he’s back down to the weight he was at before Freshman year. 

Derek doesn’t say anything about that, though, just tells Stiles not to be late. 

They’ve just finished a jog when Stiles says, “Dad’s been out of the hospital for a while now. I need to go back to school,” and Derek completely closes off. He nods, acknowledging Stiles’ words, but doesn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t ask if Stiles wants to go back or if he’s looking forward to it, he doesn’t even bring up his final art project, which Stiles had been expecting ever since that first day at the coffee shop, or how he thinks his dad will cope with Stiles gone once again.

“Well, it’s been nice,” Derek says, like he’s saying so long and goodbye, like he doesn’t think they’ll talk to each other again after this, “I should probably let you pack, then, don’t worry about getting coffee.”

Stiles nods, not trusting himself to speak. 

He goes back to his dad’s house, but he doesn’t actually pack. Instead, he pulls out his sketchbook and works on another set of sketches, using watercolours to emphasise the bruises and cuts he’s seen on Derek’s faces over the years. They only ever lasted a few seconds, but sometimes the blood stayed before Derek could wash it off, and it always served as a reminder that somewhere under the sharp and angry personality was a person just as capable of being hurt as anybody else. Sometimes, Stiles actually thought that Derek was more hurt than most others, with that being the reason why he was the way he was.

He misses his flight back to Brown, in the end, after falling asleep with his watercolours still in hand. His dad sighs, but doesn’t say anything, because he knows there’s plenty of things Stiles can bring up to distract him from the conversation. 

There’s a flight scheduled for the next day, so he books it and curses at himself for wasting his money. He doesn’t go back to sketching, unsure of how he feels about what he’s drawn even though he knows they’re some of his best work, So, he pointedly buries the book at the bottom of his bag when he finally gets around to packing. 

He’s downstairs when he hears something crash upstairs in his bedroom. He rolls his eyes and is already halfway up the stairs before he realises what he’s doing, willing himself to stay calm at the intrusion, because he knows it’s Derek. There’s nothing to be afraid of; he doesn’t need to live life waiting for the other shoe to drop any longer. 

“I know you know I was home,” he says, in lieu of a greeting, “couldn’t you have come through the front door?”

Derek shrugs, standing awkwardly beside the suitcase he’d tripped over on his way in through the window. 

“I missed my flight,” Stiles explains, “but I’ve booked another one for tomorrow.”

Derek nods, his hands clenching by his side, and Stiles just really doesn’t want him to go back out through that window because he doesn’t want him to leave. It’s unfair, he knows, because he’s going to be leaving tomorrow anyway, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be leaving Derek indefinitely. 

If Derek goes out that window, though? This will be the end.

“So, this is it?” Derek runs a hand through the back of his hair, looking nervous and uncomfortable and vulnerable.

Stiles finds himself saying that it doesn’t have to be. That Derek could come up and visit him at Brown, show him around the campus and go to the best cafes in town. Derek looks hesitant, looks like he’s trying to decipher the deeper meaning in what Stiles is saying, but there isn’t much room for misinterpretation. Even if there is, Stiles is determined to ensure that doesn’t happen. 

“There’s a gallery showing for some of the final projects. You could come, if you want?” 

Stiles wants him to ask. He wants Derek to think back to that day at the café, when Stiles tried so hard to keep his book away from Derek that he made it look like he barely cared, and Derek is smart, of course, so he asks the right question. 

“Did you decide what you’re going to do your final project on?”

Nodding, Stiles moves to his suitcase, unzipping it open and tossing out his clothes and belongings until he’s finding his sketchbook. He passes it to Derek without hesitating, a smile adorning his lips as he encourages Derek to open it. 

Page after page, there’s sketches of Derek. He’s used different mediums, experimenting each one to see what’s best representative of the wolf. They all work, too, which only makes it harder to choose his favourite. 

No matter the medium, Derek Hale is perfectly imperfect. His physical appearance being contradictory of the expression on his face, the weight he carries on his shoulders because the world rarely sees people that beautiful being slighted in any way.

“What is this?” Derek asks, turning another his page, his voice cracking as he looks at Stiles. 

“My idea for my final project. I decided to do it on moving forward,” he’s nervous then, fingers fidgeting by his side in a way they haven’t for years, “I hope you don’t mind.”

Stiles doesn’t register the movement, but suddenly Derek’s hands are free of the sketchbook and he’s reaching out to hold something else. Stiles steps forward, letting Derek’s hand settle underneath his chin, leaning into the kiss Derek presses against his mouth, soft and warm and completely different from any movement he would have associated with Derek in the past.

This, he thinks, is moving forward.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://lostmagicofahitchhiker.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I posted this on Tumblr as well, but:  
> I’m currently working on a pretty dark/angsty AU (as well as punk!daddy!Derek AU) and finished school last week so I have absolutely nothing else to do until March. I like writing shorter things to break up the monotony of writing longer pieces, otherwise I find they get repetitive and boring.
> 
> If anyone has any fluffy-ish prompts please please please send them my way. I’m pretty much open to any TW pairing as well excluding Scott/Stiles and anything involving Peter Hale.


End file.
